The stream was broader than anticipated. Walker estimated that it would require a few minutes of cautious traversal to cross it on foot, and that certain sections might reach waist depth.
Instead of crossing, they proceeded eastward along the stream. Walker looked around and felt that it presented an idyllic scene, with sunlight streaming through the gaps in the branches of the trees above and the wind gently swaying the other plants.
After lengthy period of hiking along and peering around, Walker noticed that the air didn't smell very fresh at certain points. He kept smelling something off, but he couldn't figure out exactly what the smell was.
Whatever it was, it was something not good. He couldn't pinpoint what direction the smell was coming from and eventually spoke up about it.
"It smells terrible around here. Is there something dead?" Walker asked.
Wilford nodded and then shrugged. "Can't be certain. We've walked for some time, and I haven't observed any carrion. The other scouts and gatherers are diligent in monitoring the surrounding area and the condition of the stream, but no one's noticed or reported anything unusual."
As they proceeded along the narrow trail, Walker examined his minimap to discern the layout of the area and its connection to the highway. The convoy advanced along the highway just slightly north of their current position. Even from a distance, Walker could still hear the clatter of wagons and the occasional sounds of livestock pulling them, but they had to be at least a mile ahead of their usual position in the traveling caravan.
Their pace was hurried and eventually the smell grew worse. Walker eventually asked "Any other ideas about that smell? It's so revolting."
Wilford looked down at the water. "Something in the water, or not. Something dead nearby, maybe. Not entirely sure. Maybe both, the same thing. We're still trying to find out." While talking, he didn't look at Walker, his attention focused on peering around carefully into the distance between the aged trees of Priomordia Forest.
Despite the older man's unusual phrasing, Walker understood that others must have already reported the smells, and possibly even other suspicious events, and they were going on a fact-finding mission to figure out what might be happening.
As they progressed through the forest, they examined various details. Walker discovered several neatly arranged circles of brownish-blue mushrooms, which emitted a surprisingly pleasant aroma.
Wilford informed him they were common and deemed them safe for consumption, provided they were cooked properly, so Walker stopped to gather them up.
Wilford pointed out that the areas they traversed near the stream progressively grew rockier as they headed east. Several times they found runoffs of the stream pouring into small holes in the rock, rejoining some underground water system. However, they never saw any holes larger than a fist, and most only a couple of fingers wide.
They continued and the disgusting smell would wax and wane. Often, Walker would have forgotten about it when it returned in greater strength than before.
He didn't complain anymore, though the smell was stinging and started make his mouth even feel a bit gross.
Later in the afternoon, they paused to consume travel bread and sip boiled water from their canteens, during a period when the odor was absent. The mere memory of it rendered the task burdensome, yet it was one they completed.
Both understood the need to keep their strength up. If they had a fire or some time, Walker might have cooked the mushrooms he'd found. Though his curiosity about them would have to wait until sometime later.
Deeming the situation serious enough to hurry, Wilford increased the pace and Walker soon found himself speeding along behind the older man who effortlessly traversed the woods.
Trying to emulate the older man's gait, he found that the way the Wilford walked allowed him to respond to minute changes in the ground that might cause others to stumble or slow down.
The way the balding man stepped on the sides of short inclines to avoid a deeper narrow rut in the trail and then effortlessly dodged a low-hanging branch without problem were obviously the work of long years in the brush.
Walker wasn't quite as successful, but he managed to pick up some interesting tricks about how to make his traversal a bit smoother by trying to copy the scout leader's skills. 'I'm not at talented at this sort of movement, but I'm not completely hopeless. I don't think so, anyway.' Walker though happily.
The trees in this area near the stream grew more sparsely and the ground became rockier and more often than not contained patches of white sand. The contrasts of color were nice to look at.
With the gentle sound of the stream bubbling nearby, Walker considered that this might not be a bad location to camp, were it not for their pressing journey and the unpleasant odor lingering in the air. The scene left a poignant impression on him, as he could almost imagine constructing a home or cabin in such a setting.
Wilford turned and walked back toward him, looking around with a curious look on his face. He walked over to a tree nearby and knelt, examining its roots for a moment. He stood and shook his head, looking around again before standing next to Walker.
"We've been walking for a bit, and I haven't seen any creatures. No birds, no small mammals. Definitely nothing larger, but even the insects are a bit scarce." He scratched his balding head with one hand while holding his bow.
"I suggest that we continue for a while longer before attempting to cross the stream. It is possible that whatever it is lies farther away on the opposite side, so we'll need to expand our search outward. We can't just report back that we smelled something yucky." Wilford snickered at himself and hurried along.
They followed the stream for another hour before they noticed something strange enough to warrant stopping to investigate it.
A perfectly symmetrical octagonal depression in the ground, filled with flat stones pressed together to form a cobbled-together paving. The stones in the ground didn't appear to be anything special. Flat river rocks pressed into the dirt with as little overlap as possible.
In the center of the depression was a shallow depression unlined with stones. It was also a perfectly cut-out octagon. The soil it was composed of was densely packed, forming a solid level surface.
They examined the area for a few minutes but couldn't see anything noteworthy. Digging around in the depression didn't uncover anything and there didn't appear to be any markings nearby.
There were no footprints to be seen. Their own steps formed faint depressions at the heel and toe, yet nothing else was visible nearby.
Studying the minimap, Walker looked for patterns in the area where the octagon depression was located. The area was large enough, and had been manipulated enough, that it formed a clearly visible pattern on the minimap.
Studying the surrounding area, he tried to find a similarly laid out area nearby in any direction. He was limited by the range of area he could see around himself without traveling closer on foot.
Instead, he muttered "[Map]" and saw the large opaque image of the region he found himself in suddenly impose itself on his vision.
He kept up with Wilford as best he could as he studied the Map, just translucent enough to make the process possible.
The closest area that Walker could see that could fit the bill was far to the west, near the furthest edge of the local version of the [Map] function.
A similar round spot, etched out of the landscape was clearly visible on the north side of the highway. The area was one the convoy had passed a few days prior and after studying it for a few moments, Walker blinked in surprise.
The octagon area appeared tiny on the minimap but it was an area that Walker was already well familiar with. Through the minimap's topography, he noticed that the octagon was set on the opposite side of a large hill sitting just north of the highway.
It was the exact area that their group had been ambushed by the chain devil and its forces. Because it had escaped, it was still a danger to the convoy.
He almost spoke up to alert Wilford about this, but he closed his mouth and narrowed his eyebrows into a stern look after thinking about the matter cautiously.
'There's no way I can tell him I can see a slightly-see-through map of the world and from that I know that the octagon is connected to the Enemy, somehow. That sounds ridiculous to even me.' Walker thought with resignation.
Studying the map east of their current location as quickly as he could, Walker hurried to find another conspicuous tiny octagon. He wasn't having much luck finding anything close to that shape and nothing else stood out.
Continuing to look through the local version of the [Map] for a few moments, he was frustrated that he couldn't find what he was looking for.
Dismissing the [Map], Wilford's advice to stay observant kept ringing in his thoughts.
Walker didn't understand what purpose the strange octagon-shaped depression in the ground served, so it was difficult to know why it wasn't where he guessed.
They continued searching.
Following the stream for another hour didn't yield anything and even Wilford appeared frustrated by this point. Other than another comment from Wilford about the lack of animals, they didn't speak.
Both men independently thought that it might be time to change directions or cross the stream and search further on that side when they saw something in the trees in the distance.
It would be difficult to miss, as whatever it was flared brightly with a bright red light that was clearly visible with the tree canopy blocking a lot of the sunlight from above.
Walker felt uneasy and a nausea briefly rose in stomach. It was a sensation he was coming to associate with the King, the odd oppressive voice, and whatever Mark had been placed upon him.
The burning sensation seemed to throb stronger as he faced the direction of the red light.
Walker checked the black-handled dagger that Wilford had given him, which he had affixed to his belt opposite his quiver. Although it was only easily accessible with his off-hand, it was still able to be drawn.
The stream seemed to be about the same width as everywhere else nearby, so the two scouts waded across. They were fortunate in that the depth only came to slightly above their knees.
On the other side, they ascended a gentle slope to arrive at a flat, grassy expanse. The trees grew sparser, yet the canopy above continued to shield the area below from the sun.
Suspended from a tree branch in the distance, a red light pulsated intermittently. The region illuminated by the light could only be described as peculiar and no longer susceptible to the normal rules of reality.
The red glow enveloped everything, causing all objects to lose their original hues, now rendered in varying shades of red and pink beneath its influence as if viewed through colored lenses.
Other areas in the distance retained their colors, but each pulse of the red light seemed to weaken them, with those being closer being the most affected and losing some bit of its own color.
Disrupting their alarm, a loud noise not unlike grating metal erupted.
Wilford pointed ahead. Walker saw he was pointing to three large tree stumps directly underneath the blazing red light.
Each stump stood at a height comparable to that of a man, with a circumference too large to encircle with one's hands. All three featured a recessed area in their centers, appearing to be either a hole or a deep depression on the top surface. However, due to the stumps' height and the angle at which they were positioned, it was difficult to guess which.
A loud, wet splash accompanied by the rushing sound of liquid filled the air as each of the stumps began to overflow with a bright red liquid, even more vivid than the light that had stained everything around it.
The red liquid, thicker than water, swiftly poured over the edges of the stumps, saturating them before cascading to the ground and continuing to spread outward.